Five Miles to Midnight
by Geogirl
Summary: What happened after Weiss was shot? alternating POV
1. Default Chapter

Five Miles to Midnight

By GeoGirl

Disclaimer: ABC, Bad Robot, JJ Abrams and other corporate types own Alias.  I'm just visiting.

Distribution:     Cover Me, CD, Weiss Fanfic Archive and anyone who asks.

A/N:  Follows "the Enemy Walks In".  This was written for a challenge over at SD-6.  Hope you like.

The title is taken from a song by the Devlins.

The gray of his face is like the sky on a rainy day.

Cheap hooker red is the color of his blood.

Disinfectant is sharp and bitter, like beer gone bad.

The wail of the sirens reminds him of the ocean just after the storm.

Chaos, swirling pulling him in, thrashing him around.  "Sir, you must stand back."

The beautiful ballet of blurry faces around the white and silver bed where his best friend lay, motionless.  

He is never motionless, like the inner workings of a clock.  How did he stop?  When did things get so broken?

Darkness descends.  A bag of deep crimson hanging, follow the trail to a silver needle invading a throbbing blue vein.

He shudders as the coldness of the gray skin is dispelled.

He stares out into the dark.  The blinding fluorescent lights behind him echo off the glass.  

Five miles to midnight.

Please make it.  You're my best friend.  Damn you.  You can't die.

Four miles to midnight.

High tide, low tide.  People in white shuffle in and out of the door.

Three miles to midnight.

Silence, like being underwater.  

Two miles to midnight.

Bells go off.  Not the panic bells.  NO

One mile to midnight.

Soft, breathy.  "Hey Mikey."

Midnight is past and morning is dawning.


	2. Chapter 2

Bee sting to the neck.  Slap it away.

Red on his fingers reminds him of finger paint.

Legs stop working and his body slides down the side of the car.

He hears Mike calling his name, but can't answer.

Red and gray invade his vision.

Mikey is on the way.  Help is on the way.

***

"So, which Bond girl was the hottest from _Golden Eye_?   

A head poked around the corner of Michael Vaughn's new cubicle.  "My vote is for Xenia Onatopp, although she technically wasn't the Bond girl in the film.  However, if you look at all the Bond films, Ursula Andress is by far the finest.  I'm Eric Weiss.  And if were going to have cubes next to each other, I need to find out where you stand on this very important topic. "

"Ursula Andres is, without a doubt, the best Bond Girl.  No contest.  Michael Vaughn."  The customary handshake was exchanged after Eric detangled his fingers from the string of his yo-yo.  

"Just learning this," Eric held up the yo-yo.   "Figured I needed to find something to occupy my time between reviewing surveillance tapes.  I'll have it mastered in no time."

Michael's eyebrows raised and he seriously doubted that the yo-yo would be around much longer.  "You know where to get coffee around here, because I could seriously use a jolt?  Jet lag and all.  Just moved from the Washington bureau."

"Washington, really.  What'd you work on there?"  With a nod of the head the two of them started through the cube maze in search of coffee.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Funny Michael, funny.  Just so you know, I'm the funny one in the office.  Won't have anyone usurping my title here."

"No problem.  No one gets my jokes anyways."

Eric stopped several times along the route to introduce his new friend to several co-workers.  Of course, Eric knew all the women's names by heart.  The men, he had to sneak a peak to the nameplate on the outside of their cubes.

"Now that we've discerned your taste in Bond women, who was the best Bond?  And if you say Timothy Dalton, I will never be your friend."

"No contest on that one.  Connery, Sean Connery."

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Eric clapped his hand on Michael's shoulder as they turned into the coffee room.

***  

"Je t'aime.  Je vous telephonerai dimanche.  Au revior." 1  With that, Michael hung up the phone.

"Oh man, this is just my luck."  Dark curly hair and dark eyes poked over the cube wall that separates their desks.  "My new best friend speaks French.  I'm never going to beat that when we're out cruising chicks together.  They just love for a guy to talk to them in French." He shook his head muttering to himself.  "Hey man, care to teach me a few lines that will help with the honeys?"

Michael just laughed and shook his head.  "Sure man, whatever."

"So is she hot?"

Michael looked perplexed at the question.

Eric pointed to the phone, "The honey you just hung up with?  Is she smoking?  Cause you shouldn't be wasting your good stuff on just anyone?"

"Only you would ask if my mother's hot!   You'd go after anything in a skirt."

"Well is she, because I may need my own Mrs. Robinson?"  Eric's head disappeared back behind the cube wall as a wad of paper flew toward him.

"Stay away from my mother, my aunt and my 80 year old grandmother, you horn-dog."

"You take all the fun out of my life, you know.  Just the biggest party pooper.  Geez, no fun what so ever."  A wad of paper flew of the cube wall and landed squarely in the middle of the papers on Michael's desk.

***

They walked into the packed arena just as the national anthem finished.  Beers in hand, they navigated to their seats as the Kings took the ice.  Ice chips and blood flew as the game proceeded to the end of the second period.  Goal by the Kings put the score to 1 – 0.  

"Hey Mikey," He yelled over the roar of the crowd, as the Kings goalie slapped the puck away. "You need another beer?"  Michael was so intent on the game the question went unnoticed.

"Hey Mikey?"  Eric reached out to shake his friend's shoulder.  

The scene faded from a crowed hockey game to blinding light and into the stark whiteness of a hospital room.

"Hey Mikey."  And his best friend turned away from the dark window towards his bed.  A smile crept onto Michael's lips and it appeared as the weight of the world lifted from his slumping shoulders.   

"Got enough beauty sleep, Weiss? Cuz I think you still need another few days."  Vaughn moved to the side of the bed and sat down in the chair he had occupied for the better part of two days.

"Did we get it?"  The question was barely above a whisper, but had all the force of a megaphone.

"No man, someone beat us to the punch."  Vaughn gave a small shrug of the shoulders and the wrinkles returned to his forehead.

"Shit, somebody still working on it?"  The words were becoming forceful.  Eric wanted to make sure that the company wasn't letting the Bible slip out of their hands so easily.

"Yeah.  The best."  Vaughn couldn't make eye contact.  He and Eric had already had too many discussions about that subject.

"Sydney."

"Yeah. Sydney," with a small nod of Vaughn's head.

Eric turned away from his friend and the conversation hung in the air.  He wasn't sure how he felt about Sydney's return to Golden Child status.  A thousand and one things, to be exact.  She had come between he and his best friend.  He should hate her really, but his friend loved her.  That much was evident.  So for now, he had to give her, and him, the benefit of the doubt.

Michael started shifting in his seat, not sure how to read the pregnant pause.  "Sorry man, I didn't mean to wear you out, just glad to see you awake."  Vaughn slipped toward the door, knowing that the subject of Sydney was best left for another day.  It was too complicated and too emotional for now.   "Just get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"  Vaughn was half out the door before Eric could respond.

"Thanks Mikey for saving me."  He wanted to say more, but so much more that the words wouldn't come.

"No problem buddy, just get better soon.  The office is lonely with out ya."  Vaughn gave a small wave and headed out the door.

"Yeah.  Just be careful buddy," he whispered to the closed door.

***

1   Translation:  "I love you Mom.  I will call (telephone) you on Sunday.  Good-bye."


	3. Chapter 3

The nurse came and checked on Eric's I.V. before settling in for take off.  The CIA had provided a transport plane to take us back to the States, now that Eric's doctor has pronounced him fit to travel.  The plane is actually much nicer than the usual military transport, with a décor similar to a normal passenger plane.  Eric has been sedated for the 14-hour trip and I hope that I am lucky enough to get a few hours of sleep in during the flight.  It seems as though we are the only ones on board, beside the staff; however, I know there are several diplomats, two nurses and a doctor accompanying us.  Thankfully, they appear to be leaving us alone.

Eric's parents will be meeting us at the hospital in L.A. and I will relinquish some of the worry and watching to them.  Yes, he is my best friend and I am partially to blame for his present condition, knowing that weighs heavily on me.  But what is bothering me the most is the turn our friendship has taken.  Ever since he reported me to Devlin, there has been this barrier between us.  The trust has been so severely bruised, I don't know if it ever can be repaired.  

The nurses come around after take off and check on Eric's vital signs; he appears to be doing well.  The flight attendants bring around dinner, and I finally notice that the sun has set over the ocean.  Dinner is typical airplane fare and I eat it mechanically.  

Sometime after dinner I must have dozed off because several hours later turbulence has awakened me to a dimly lit cabin.  A nurse scoots over and checks the monitors.  All is well and she adds another dose of medicine to the new I.V. bag.  She then leaves without a word, only a nod of the head.

"Your lucky to be sleeping this entire trip, buddy, because I don't know if I could stand 14 hours of you flirting with the nurses and the flight attendants.  By this time one of them would be contemplating dropping something very wet and cold into your lap.  You've really got to learn to be a bit more subtle."

I, for some odd reason, am suddenly compelled to carry on a conversation with my sedated friend.  I chuckle at myself and the absurdity of it all.

"We're on the way back to L.A., somewhere over The Atlantic.  It's the middle of the night and I bet that your entire family is already camped out at the hospital and driving the floor staff crazy.  Your mom is so anxious to see you herself and will be sneaking you food in no time.  Can't let her little Eric waste away on hospital food.

The doctors will be keeping you in the hospital for a while.  You lost a lot of blood and you gave us all quite a scare.  They're also worried about possible nerve damage because of the location of the bullet wound.  You might get stuck with some physical therapy.  Knowing you, you'll find the cutest therapist to help your recovery."

I stand up and walk up and down the makeshift aisle, stretching my legs a bit.

"I guess I should say that you are right when it comes to my attachment to Sydney.  I do admit our relationship is much more than what protocol allows.  I truly consider her a friend and would do anything to keep her safe.  Maybe there's more, maybe not; I'm not sure.  But, did you have to go to Devlin?  

Honestly, I was working with Jack to figure out a way to help Sydney; you didn't see what they were doing to her.  This Rambaldi crap was tearing away at her.  They were questioning her and weren't planning on releasing her at all.  Jack confirmed that.  She had just recently learned that her mother was a KGB agent and responsible for the deaths of 12 CIA operatives, including my Dad.   Then she realizes that her mother might be alive.  A lesser woman would have completely fallen apart.  You should have seen her; she almost did fall apart.  She called me, Eric, saying that I was the only one she could talk to.  Her relationship with her dad is barely civil, so whom else could she confide in?  How could I let her down by spouting protocol?

Tell me Eric, what would you have done in my place?  Because I really don't know how I could have done anything different.  Jack and I couldn't figure out another way.

But you going to Devlin and report me, that cut deep.  I felt so betrayed.  I know you thought you were doing the right thing, in the best interest of the country and all.  Keeping Sydney working for the CIA is the best thing for the country.  With her help, I honestly believe we have a chance of taking down SD-6 and Arvin Sloane.  Without her, I don't know if it's possible."  I stop to catch my breath, "I don't know if anything is possible without her."

I am at a loss for words at the moment.  I'm not sure how to tell him that I hope we can patch the holes and rebuild our friendship.  I wish that he heard me just now, that what I was trying to say made any kind of sense to his unconscious brain.

I know we are going to have to talk of this sooner or later.  I don't know what possessed me now to start expounding about the whole mess.  I just want my friend back, safe and whole.  I need him to help me stay level and sane when the job, and Sydney, is doing their worst to me.  I need him to go drinking with me and loudly scope out all the pretty girls.  I need him to sit on my couch and help me yell at the Kings on the TV.  I need his silly yo-yo flashing outside my office and his really bad jokes.  I need my friend and I hope he needs me too.

I lean back into the seat and stare out into the darkness and watch for the sunrise to catch up with us.


End file.
